


Handle With Care

by itsfaberrytaboo (orphan_account)



Series: Color the Sky [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Play, Established Relationship, F/F, Natasha Needs a Hug, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/itsfaberrytaboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maria has agreed to put her work away for the weekend, but it’s clear as she stands in Natasha’s living room that she’s more comfortable with fighting than she is with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handle With Care

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for reading, and for your reviews and comments. I really appreciate them!

Maria walks into Natasha’s apartment with such a look of apprehension that Natasha wonders if maybe this is a terrible idea, after all. It’s just after five-thirty, starting what will hopefully be a stress- and op- free weekend. Maria has agreed to put her work away for the weekend, but it’s clear as she stands in Natasha’s living room that she’s more comfortable with fighting than she is with _this_.

But she’s willing to try, she’s willing to use this evening and the next two days as a chance for Natasha to explore with her, and it means so much that Natasha has been on pins and needles waiting for it. She’d gone shopping the night before, at a department store two towns over. Natasha has made a career of blending in, even if occasionally someone wanting an autograph still recognizes her. (The fact that anyone wants her autograph is still a shock.)  So it isn’t like she was worried about someone seeing her, seeing what she was buying, but she’d enjoyed the fact that this time, on her own, she can walk through the store and actually buy something that mirrors how she feels.

It’s nothing special: just a black overall dress with buttons at the shoulders, over a simple white shirt with short, slightly-puffed sleeves. Her hair is held back on the sides with two small red bows. Natasha has finally let herself have a pair of lacy white socks that come up to her knees, and though the black flats she’s dug out of her closet aren’t really the shiny, buckled shoes she wants, they’ll do for now.

Maria, in her SHIELD-issued sweat pants and black shirt, is also wearing a half-smile as she regards Natasha, her gaze scanning over the shorter woman in front of her. It makes Natasha more self-conscious than she’s ever been in her life, but Maria’s expression doesn’t show disapproval. There’s a nervousness, sure, and her voice shakes a little when she speaks.

“You look adorable.”

“Yeah?” Natasha grins, her hand worrying her skirt.  “I like it.”

“I do too. So… how do I- I mean how do we- how do we do this?”

Natasha shrugs. “I haven’t really found instructions anywhere,” she jokes lightly.

It’s true, though. She’s been reading about it a lot more, ever since Maria had found her on the floor coloring with Agent Scruff. Natasha knows that _she_ likes hair bows and crayons, that she likes the way Agent Scruff’s fur feels between her fingers and she thinks she’ll like Maria’s cuddles when she’s little even more. She likes socks with lace. She thinks she’d like the park, but she’s not sure she’s ready for that yet. She likes forgetting that the Avengers exist, if even for a little while.

And Natasha knows what _others_ she reads about like, what she _doesn’t_. She doesn’t want diapers or a pacifier, and she really can’t imagine using Maria’s nipples for anything other than, well, the obvious. She’s torn on the idea of naps, because she’s pretty sure when she’s little it’s in the five-years-old I’m-too-big-for-this range, but on the other hand, naps are _awesome._ The story she read where the little boy’s daddy rocked him to sleep left a lump in Natasha’s throat, even if the idea of a daddy makes her grimace. She does _not_ want one of those sleepers with snaps to make changing easier (because she won’t ever need changing) – but that online store she’s found has some amazing footie pajamas.

Natasha knows Maria has been doing her research, too. She’s mentioned a thing or two, and a fuzzy red blanket with black, satin-y trim had shown up on Natasha’s bed two days ago. Natasha had just smiled and put it on the end of the bed, thinking that she was a big girl, she didn’t need a _blankie_.

She’d woken up the next morning with both Agent Scruff and the blanket held tightly in her arms.

But this is different. This isn’t Maria buying crayons and blankets and leaving them for Natasha to find when she is gone. And this isn’t Natasha curled up on her bed late at night with her coloring pages and her bear. This is both of them, together, and Natasha realizes that even with all the reading in the world they could do, she and Maria really don’t have any clue what they’re doing.

Still, she shrugs. “Let’s just see where it goes,” she says. She smiles before she echoes Maria’s words from an earlier conversation.

“We’ll figure it out.”

“What if I do something wrong?”

It’s curious to Natasha, that someone like Commander Maria Hill can be vulnerable. Natasha knows _she_ can be, knows that Maria has seen it and, though she hasn’t said it, _loves_ her anyway. Or more for it, which will forever be a mystery to Natasha. But Maria is the director of SHIELD. She’s risen through the military, through the ranks of SHIELD; she’s been on ops where she’s cheated death too many times for Natasha to be comfortable thinking about. She can put a bullet through someone with stone-cold calculation, and yet she’s biting her lip as she looks at Natasha, _worried_.

And it’s a real fear, because it’s one Natasha has herself. It isn’t like she’s ever done this; it isn’t like she has a clear mission where she knows what’s expected of her and what she needs to do to accomplish the task set before her. All she knows is she wants this. Oh, how she wants this, and she wants it with Maria.

So she reaches out her hand to her girlfriend, tangling their fingers together. “I might do something wrong too,” she says. “Whatever happens, we’ll talk it out. Like reasonable adults.”

She winks, and Maria laughs.

“All right, I can live with that.” She hesitates. “Are you going to… call me mommy or anything? Because I—“

“No, I don’t think we’re ready for that,” Natasha interrupts, and her hunch is correct when Maria looks relieved. “I’ll just stick to Maria. But can you maybe… call me Natalia?”

“Why?”

“It’s who I was before.”

“I get it,” Maria says, with such a conviction that Natasha knows she _does_ get it. “I can do that, sweetheart.”

Natasha glances down at her shoes. Her mind is already going slightly fuzzy, though it’s tempered with wild thoughts that _they’re really doing this_ and _it could go so wrong_. She’s shaking, a little, and Maria’s hand tightens in hers.

“Will you hold me?”

She quickly finds herself enfolded in Maria’s arms, the height difference leaving them with Natasha’s head tucked against Maria’s chest.

“I’ve got you,” Maria says, cupping the back of Natasha’s head with her hand, and gently scratching at her scalp.

Natasha closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. For all her vulnerability Maria is strong against her, not so much holding Natasha as holding her _up_ , in a way. Natasha knows that she would move hell and earth to protect Maria, that if something was hurting her nothing would stand between Natasha absolutely _crushing_ whatever it was. But however fiercely Natasha feels about the director, she knows it can’t match the way Maria feels. It’s daunting, sometimes, the way Maria has believed in her from even the very beginning, when Natasha was a bitter assassin fresh from the Red Room, trying to clean her ledger. That in itself is a gift she’s never deserved, a grace she will never feel worthy of. But to have _this_ , to have Maria holding her and dropping kisses to Natasha’s hair, is something beyond explanation.

When Natasha pulls away and cranes her neck slightly to look up at Maria, the noise of her world has slipped away to a muted hum in her ears.

“Hi, Maria,” she says shyly. Her voice is higher, a little more girlish.

Maria smiles at her. “Hi there, Natalia.”

She likes it when Maria calls her that. She likes it a lot.

“I missed you,” Natalia says with a pout.

“I missed you too,” Maria says, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “But I’m here now, and we have the whole weekend to do whatever we want.”

“But don’t you have to write reports?” Natalia asks anxiously. Maria works so hard. Too hard. And sometimes it makes her grumpy; she should never be grumpy.

“I made sure to get them all finished before I left,” Maria reassures, kissing Natalia’s forehead. “And besides, I don’t want you to worry about that when you’re, um, not big. Okay?”

“Okay,” Natalia says doubtfully, before she brightens. “Agent Scruff and I played checkers today!”

It clearly amuses Maria, and she grins. “Oh really? And who won?”

“Agent Scruff,” Natalia says with a grumble. “But only because I let him.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll win next time, sweetheart.”

Natalia nods, then pokes Maria in the arm. “Can we have dinner? I’m hungry.”

“Don’t poke, that’s not nice,” Maria says, but her eyes are twinkling. “What do you want to eat?”

“Macaroni and cheese!”

“Is it Frozen-shaped?”

Maria is teasing, and Natalia blushes, scuffing the toe of her shoe on the carpet.

“Uh huh.”

_Natasha_ had bought it, two weeks ago when she was big.

“All right, then. I know you’ve got chicken in the fridge,” Maria says, moving to the kitchen. “So chicken and mac and cheese, and maybe some broccoli to go with it.”

Natalia makes a face. “I don’t like broccoli,” she mutters, even though she’d purchased it at the same time she’d bought the mac and cheese and the chicken.

“I’ll put butter and salt and pepper on it. You’ll love it, sweetheart. And it’ll make you strong..er.”

“I don’t _want_ broccoli.”

“Tough. Little girls need their vegetables.”

Natalia gapes at her, and Maria suddenly looks uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, that was way too much, I didn’t mean to.”

“You’ll put butter on it?” Natalia asks, with her head tilted.

_Little girls_. She likes that.

Maria pulls open the fridge, then nods. “Yep. I promise you’ll like it, if you just try.”

“Well… okay, Maria.”

Maria beams at her, and Natalia smiles back.

“Do you want to sit here in the kitchen with me, or do you want to watch something on tv with Agent Scruff?”

She considers this. The idea of sitting and watching Maria cook makes her feel happy and warm inside, because Maria loves to cook, and Natalia loves eating. But Agent Scruff looks kind of sad slumped over by himself on the couch…

“TV,” Natalia decides. “And then we eat in the kitchen when dinner is ready?”

Usually, when she’s big, they eat in the living room and watch a movie together. Which is nice, but tonight is different, Natalia thinks.

“Hmm… I don’t know…” Maria drags it out, and Natalia sticks out her lower lip, her eyes widening.

“Please, Maria?”

“All right, all right. Who can say no to a face like that?”

“You can’t!” Natalia pokes her tongue out at Maria, then practically bounces into the living room and onto the couch. “What do you want to watch, Agent Scruff?” She picks up the remote and flips on the television, cycling through the channels. She finally settles on The Simpsons, lying down with her head against the arm of the couch and Agent Scruff in her arms.

“Natalia?” Maria calls. “Turn it to something else, please.”

Natalia glances over at her, confused. “Why?”

“I don’t think The Simpsons is a very good show for you, sweetheart. I bet there’s something better on.”

“But I like it…” Well, she does when she’s _big_ , anyway.

“Natalia, now, please.”

Maria’s tone invites no argument, and Natalia isn’t sure why that sends a pleasant, almost content little shiver racing down her spine. Still, she grumbles for effect, even while picking up the remote again.

“Maria?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Is Scooby Doo okay?”

“I think that’s perfect. I love Scooby Doo!” Maria says. “Rooby rooby roo!”

Natalia laughs, resting her head against the couch again, allowing herself to get caught up in the tale of a rogue ape on a movie set. Soon the apartment is full of the smell of chicken and broccoli cooking on the stove, and Natalia’s stomach growls.

“Maria, I’m hungry,” she finally complains once more, halfway through another episode.  This time, an angry clown is terrorizing a circus, and Natalia shudders. She does _not_ like clowns. They’re scary.

“Ten more minutes, you impatient little thing,” Maria says, coming into the living room and reaching down to stroke Natalia’s hair. She glances over at the television. “Oh, that’s a good one.”

“I don’t like the clown.” Natalia hugs Agent Scruff closer. “He looks mean.”

“Yeah, he’s not very friendly,” Maria agrees. “But you know what?”

Natalia looks up curiously. “What?”

Maria leans down and brushes Natalia’s forehead again with a kiss. “Nobody’s gonna hurt my girl.”

She can’t help the grin that threatens to split her face. “Your girl?” she asks.

“Mmhm. My good girl.”

She’s a good girl, Natalia thinks, her eyes a little wide with wonder.

She likes that. She likes it a lot.

“Not even an evil ghost clown?”

“Oh, especially not an evil ghost clown.”

At last Maria calls her into the kitchen, and Natalia bounds in to see her place at the table has already been set. A plate of chicken, macaroni and cheese and broccoli sits alongside a tall glass of milk, and Natalia glances at Maria in surprise. Her chicken has even been cut up into bite-sized pieces.

“Little girls aren’t supposed to use knives,” Maria says, rather awkwardly.

Natalia only nods, moving into her seat and sitting Scruff on her lap. “Makes it easier to eat,” she says. “Thank you, Maria.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Put Scruff in the other chair, I don’t want you dropping anything on him.”

“I’ll be careful!”

“You heard what I said, Natalia.”

Natalia lets out a long-suffering sigh, but does what she’s told as Maria rolls her eyes at her. She attacks her dinner as if she hasn’t eaten in years, and discovers that she actually _does_ like broccoli with butter. Maria just smirks in triumph.

“What would you like to do this weekend?” she asks.

“I don’t know. But it has to be with you, okay?”

“Well, aren’t you a sweet little girl,” Maria says, her blue eyes soft, and Natalia kicks her feet against the chair happily.

“I brought us some movies I think you’ll like, and you can color all you want. You know, I don’t have a picture for _my_ refrigerator.”

Natalia pauses in the middle of eating. “You want a picture?” she says, her mouth still slightly full.

“Drink your milk, you’ll choke if you talk while you’re eating.” Maria taps the table next to the glass, and Natalia picks it up, dutifully taking a sip.

“You color really well, all of your drawings are _very_ pretty. I’d love to have one, but only if you want to.”

“I’ll make you one!” Natalia says, suddenly excited. “Do you like rainbows?”

“I love rainbows.”

“Then I’ll draw you a picture of a rainbow.”

“Thank you, Natalia,” Maria says, and her smile gives Natalia that pleasant feeling down her spine again. She’ll color a million pictures for Maria if it means seeing that smile all the time, she thinks.

“It’ll be a very special picture.”

But then Natalia thinks of something, and she falls silent, picking at the remainder of snowflake-shaped macaroni and cheese. She feels Maria’s warm hand cover her free one.

“Sweetheart?”

Natalia glances at her. “But if you put it on your ‘frigerator… people might see it.”

Maria doesn’t have people over to her apartment all that often; Natalia knows that Maria likes to hang out with Steve in his own apartment, or Natasha in hers, when she’s big. But she’s the director, and there’s still a chance…

(Natasha has moved the picture of the sky to her bedroom, just in case.)

“Well,” Maria says slowly, “I think you should be proud of making such nice pictures. I know I’m very proud of you.”

“Really?” She can feel that her face is pink again; Maria squeezes her hand.

“Very proud of you. But I tell you what. If you give me a very special picture, I’ll put it in my room. That way it’ll be even more special, because I’ll be the only one that knows it’s there, and I can look at it any time I want. How’s that?”

“Yes!” Natalia says, relieved. She likes the idea of Maria having a special, secret drawing, just for her. Likes the idea that Maria is proud of her.

They have vanilla ice cream for dessert, because Maria forgot to pick up anything else and she looks so embarrassed that it makes Natalia giggle. Vanilla ice cream is one of her favorites anyway. She tells Agent Scruff that he would love it, but she can’t give him any because it would probably ruin his fur. That makes Maria chuckle.

It’s still early when they move back into the living room to watch television together, so Natalia doesn’t change into her pajamas just yet. She frowns when she climbs onto the couch with Agent Scruff and Maria goes for the big recliner, perching just on the edge of it looking uncomfortable. Natalia has seen that look on Maria’s face before, when she’s big and at work and Maria is sending Natasha somewhere that isn’t safe. Or sending _anyone_ somewhere that isn’t safe, really. Sometimes it’s as if Maria doesn’t know what to do and her brain works too fast, trying to figure out the best way to make sure no one gets hurt. When that happens, there’s a shadow in her eyes sometimes that makes her look older. Harder.

Natalia does _not_ like that.

So she gets up from the couch and moves to stand in front of Maria, holding Agent Scruff in her hand by one fuzzy, soft paw.

“Can I sit in your lap and we watch Scooby?” she asks quietly.

Maria smiles at her in surprise, and shifts back in the recliner and holds out her arms. “I think I would really enjoy that.”

She clambers up, stretching out with her back pressed against Maria’s front. Maria pops out the foot rest and wraps her arms around Natalia’s waist, holding her close. It is, Natalia thinks, the first time she’s ever sat in Maria’s lap, whether big _or_ little. And it’s nice, maybe one of the nicest things Natalia has ever felt. It’s taken some getting used to, this softness, gentleness. Being handled with _care_ , instead of… other things that she won’t think about when she’s little. Natalia wiggles a little bit, getting comfortable; she feels Maria reach up and pull her ponytail out with one hand, before she hugs Natalia closer again.

Maria’s hand is warm against Natalia’s tummy; occasionally she gives it a little rub and Natalia keeps relaxing, until her head is laid against Maria’s shoulder as they laugh at Shaggy and Scooby’s antics. Natalia can smell Maria’s perfume and her skin, can feel Maria’s heart beating slow and steady, and she smiles.

Natalia feels small, and soft. There are no hard edges to her body as she lays against Maria; her limbs are slightly awkward instead of trained, her jaw tender instead of clenched. She wonders if Maria understands; she thinks, when she feels Maria’s other hand in her hair, and Maria’s lips on top of her head, that she has to understand. The director’s body is slightly curled around Natalia, as best as can be in their current position. Her arms hold, gently, lovingly, protectively, and for a moment Natalia just feels so _young_ that tears spring to her eyes. She fights it off, though, because she’s a _big girl_ and she doesn’t need to cry _like a baby_.

Instead, she maneuvers so that she is sideways on Maria’s lap, with her head under Maria’s chin.

“Hi, there,” Maria whispers, sounding only a little less nervous than she has all night.

“Hi,” Natalia yawns. The sun hasn’t quite gone down outside, but she and Maria are _cuddling_ , and that’s enough to make her feel weary as well as safe.

“Sleepy?”

“Nuh-uh,” she lies.

“Of course,” Maria says, and Natalia can hear the smile in her voice.

“Can we go to the park?” she asks suddenly.

“The park?”

“Agent Scruff wants to play on the swings.”

“Oh, he does, does he?”

“Yep. So can we go? Pleease Maria? Let’s go to the park.”

Maria is quiet for a minute, thinking, then finally answers. “We could go have a picnic, would you like that?”

“Yes!” Natalia says excitedly. “Let’s go have a picnic!”

Maria laughs. “Not now, sweetheart.”

“Why not?” Natalia pouts. “I want a picnic and Agent Scruff needs to play on the swings.”

“He doesn’t _need_ to play on the swings, I don’t think.”

“He does too.”

“Well, Agent Scruff is a very patient bear, and I think he’ll understand that I’m a little too tired to go to the park.”

Natalia sits up and looks at Maria. “I didn’t know you were tired,” she says, and for some reason it makes her feel _bad_ , because Maria has cooked for her and is cuddling her and Natalia is trying to make her go have a picnic.

But Maria shakes her head and pulls Natalia back down to her. “You make me less tired.”

Well, that sounds nice.

“But not less-tired to go have a picnic?” Natalia still tries.

“Very sneaky.” Maria tickles her ribs, and Natalia smacks her hand away. “We’ll talk about it later, when I’m not tired and when a certain sleepy little girl has gotten her rest.”

“M’not sleepy,” Natalia insists, but her eyes are heavy anyway.

She has no idea why she has the urge to suck her thumb.

The apartment is dark, and the digital clock in the living room reads 1:35 a.m. when she wakes up.

They’re still snuggled together on the recliner. Late-night adult cartoons cast shadows on the wall, and Maria hasn’t stopped holding her.

She darts out a tongue, wets her lips. “Maria?”

Natasha’s voice comes out husky with sleep.

“Oh, thank god,” Maria breathes into the darkness. “I didn’t want to move and wake you up but I have got to _pee_.”

“Why Maria Hill, that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Shut up,” she snorts. She pops the footrest back down, steadying Natasha with a hand on her waist so the smaller woman doesn’t go lurching off onto the floor.

“Let’s get to the bed or neither one of us are going to be worth anything in the morning.”

Natasha climbs off of Maria’s lap – reluctantly – and moves towards the bedroom. Once there, she strips off the dress and shirt, the socks, kicks the shoes back into the closet. She pulls the bows out and musses her hair. She doesn’t bother with pants, just tugs a tee-shirt on over her head and looks in the mirror.

Natasha Romanoff blinks drowsily back at herself.

“Feel better?” she asks Maria with a smirk when her girlfriend finally joins her from the bathroom.

“Much, yes, thank you.”

Maria doesn’t get into the bed; she just stands there, in front of Natasha, not really looking at her, and suddenly Natasha thinks that maybe it did go _all wrong_.

“Maria? What is it?”

Maria shrugs, then at last looks at her. “How was I?”

It’s such an absurd question; it’s almost as if they have had sex for the first time and Maria is worried about her performance. And Natasha would laugh, if she didn’t understand, completely. And so she surges forward and kisses Maria so hard it leaves them breathless for a moment.

“You were perfect,” she says, taking Maria’s hands and wrapping the woman’s arms around her waist. She shakes her head. “I know you were nervous, and I know you have no idea what you’re doing—“

“Is this meant to be reassuring?”

“Shut up,” Natasha says, and winks when Maria huffs. “I don’t have any idea what I’m doing either, you know,” she confesses. “It’s not like there are any rules to this. Except do what feels right and if it doesn’t feel good then stop doing it.”

“It felt good?”

Natasha tips her head to the side, wishing that she was a poet and she could put into words what she feels. But she’s not about words. She’s about actions and technique, and none of that translates very well to what they’re doing right now.

“I felt like me,” is all she knows to say. “And I felt like that was okay.”

“Was it okay?”

“It was _perfect_.” She kisses Maria again. “But… how was I?”

Maria smiles, and leads them both to the bed. Before she climbs in, Natasha presses a kiss to Agent Scruff’s snout, gives him a gentle pat to his head and leans him up against the bedside table, on the floor.

“You were… sweet,” Maria muses, sitting with her back to the headboard, opening her arms for Natasha. “Sweet, and cuddly, and very cute. I really did like that dress.”

“Good,” Natasha says, pleased with herself, and blushing at Maria’s praise. But she pauses, still a little uncertain.

“So can we do it again?”

Maria squeezes her, kisses the top of her head. “I’d hoped so. If you want to.”

She’s been afraid to tell Maria how much she wants it, how much Natasha thinks she needs it. But Maria’s words are confirmation that maybe, just maybe, Natasha isn’t the only one that wants it, needs it.

Maybe, without either of them realizing it, they _do_  know what they’re doing, after all.


End file.
